


Put Your Head On My Shoulder

by king_finn



Series: What A Wonderful World [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Collars, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Minor Violence, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_finn/pseuds/king_finn
Summary: “Geralt, get it off,” he whines, hands prying at the metal ring around his neck. It’d been put there by a bunch of slave traders, who’d thought the lone bard sitting at the campfire an easy target, not heeding his warnings that his Witcher would come back and kill them all.It’d ended with the men spilling their innards and their blood on the ground and Jaskier safe and sound on Roach as Geralt led them away from the campsite, in search of a different spot to settle for the night – somewhere Geralt wouldn’t be able to smell the blood and the shit spilling from split guts.But it had also ended with a collar around Jaskier’s neck.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: What A Wonderful World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951405
Comments: 14
Kudos: 389
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Put Your Head On My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 of Whumptober 2020! Today's prompt is: collars!
> 
> Title from Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment!

“Geralt, get it off,” he whines, hands prying at the metal ring around his neck. It’d been put there by a bunch of slave traders, who’d thought the lone bard sitting at the campfire an easy target, not heeding his warnings that his Witcher would come back and kill them all.

It’d ended with the men spilling their innards and their blood on the ground and Jaskier safe and sound on Roach as Geralt led them away from the campsite, in search of a different spot to settle for the night – somewhere Geralt wouldn’t be able to smell the blood and the shit spilling from split guts.

But it had also ended with a collar around Jaskier’s neck.

“ _Geralt,”_ he whines again, lungs constricting in his chest as his hands scrabble to find a lock or seam in the metal, trying to keep from hyperventilating, trying to push the claustrophobia away. “ _Please.”_

“Sit still, Jaskier,” Geralt grits through his teeth, standing next to Jaskier, soft fingers pushing between the metal and Jaskier’s skin, trying to find a way to get the collar off. “ _Godsdammit, sit still.”_

“Geralt,” Jaskier says again, choking back a sob. “I want it off.”

Geralt stops his movements, grabbing Jaskier’s chin in a gentle hand, forcing him to meet amber eyes. “I know, Jaskier. But stop moving, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

He nods, staring into the dark trees, fumbling with the hem of his shirt as tears gather in his eyes, every soft tug at the collar, every touch of the metal against his neck making him feel more and more trapped, hiccupping as he desperately tries to keep his breathing even.

Eventually, Geralt leans back with a heavy sigh. “It’s magic. I can’t take it off by myself, we need to find a mage.”

“Wait, wait, _wait. No!_ Geralt, please!” He tugs at the collar, ignoring the way he feels bruises start to form on his neck. “I can’t keep wearing this thing a second longer, I _need_ it off right now. _Please.”_

“Jaskier, Jask, stop,” Geralt says softly, grasping Jaskier’s wrists and pulling them away from the collar. Jaskier hiccups again, fresh tears gathering in his eyes and spilling over, lower lip trembling uncontrollably. “I know this… isn’t ideal-“

“ _Geralt.”_

“But I can’t take it off. It’s magic, and there’s a chance that if I try to get it off of you, it’ll hurt you in some way. I’m sorry.”

He curls in on himself, sobbing quietly against his knees, as his hands come up to tug the collar forward, trying to create as much space between his throat and the metal as possible. After a few seconds, he feels Geralt’s warm hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his shirt.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Geralt, I can’t do this, I can’t walk around with this fucking thing around my neck, it’s _choking me.”_

“I know. I know, Jask.” He hears movement, and suddenly Geralt’s hand clenches in his shirt, hauling him to his feet. “Let’s go find a mage.”

“I- it’s the middle of the night.”

Geralt sighs, taking Roach’s reigns in one hand, the other slipping down Jaskier’s shoulder to intertwine their fingers, the pressure of Geralt’s skin on his a gentle reassurance. “I know. But the sooner we get that thing off of you, the better.”

He nods, letting Geralt and his superior eyesight lead the way towards and across the dark road, Roach dragging her feet a little next to them, undoubtedly not very happy that she doesn’t get to sleep.

Speaking of – after a few hours, Jaskier can feel sleep tugging at his eyes, too. He’s been up all day, and with the stress of the slavers trying to take him and the blind panic of failing to get the collar off, he’s exhausted to the bone. If it had been the middle of the day, he would’ve asked Geralt if he could ride Roach, but on his own he would surely fall off, and Roach is too tired to carry the both of them, so he’s condemned to walk until they finally find someone that can take this blasted thing off his neck.

Suddenly, Geralt stops, and Jaskier bumps into him. “What?” he whispers, frantically looking into the darkness for a monster Geralt might’ve seen.

“You’re tired.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You’re tired, I can tell.”

He sighs, shrugging as he looks away – or presumably does, he still can’t really see. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He hears the tell-tale sound of Geralt taking his swords off his back, and Roach stamping her hoof when the weapons are undoubtedly placed on her back. Suddenly, he feels Geralt’s back against his chest.

“Wh-“

“Get on my back.”

“ _What?”_

Geralt sighs, a bit impatient, a bit embarrassed. “Get on my back, I’ll carry you.”

“You don’t have to-“

“It’s my fault. I left you alone and I didn’t check the surrounding woods well enough. What happened is my fault. This is the least I can do.”

He almost makes a comment about how this is the most words he’s ever heard Geralt say in one sentence, but decides against it, instead bracing his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and jumping up. Strong hands wrap around the back of his thighs, hoisting him further up until he can lean his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, arms loosely draped around the Witcher’s neck. The collar presses against his throat uncomfortably, but the leather and pines he smells when he presses his nose in Geralt’s hair calm him down.

Geralt starts walking again, and before long, Jaskier can feel his eyelids drooping again, the gentle sway of Geralt’s steps lulling him into sleep.

“’S not your fault,” he manages to whispers, and Geralt scoffs.

“It is.”

“Nuh-uh.” He sighs, burying his nose in the side of Geralt’s neck, long hair tickling his eyelids. “You did everything right. You always do.”

Geralt sighs, one of his thumbs rubbing against Jaskier’s thigh soothingly. “Just go to sleep, Jask. We’ll find that mage and get that damned thing off your neck when you wake up.”

“Night, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow's prompt is: water! If you want to be notified when tomorrow's fic goes up, don't hesitate to subscribe to the What A Wonderful World series!


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